Meryl Grandy

On Archive.org I came across another work of Henry Schoolcraft entitled The Indian tribes of the United States: Vol 1 (1884). The detailed text contains lots of info regarding history, religion, arts, language, etc. Included amongst the many illustrations is a drawing of three Indians in a canoe along a shoreline gathering wild rice.


Collecting Wild Rice
One holds a very long paddle, probably used for poling in the shallows, while the others use tools to beat grains of rice from their stalks. The grip is also a simple flattened taper, more evidence that this style of grip seems to be commonly used in the past and forgotten by today's manufacturers.


Paddle closeup
Apparently, the image was originally painted by Seth Eastman in 1857 and originally titled, Chippewa Women Gathering Wild Rice. Found a link to one watercolour version here...


Chippewa Women Gathering Wild Rice, c 1857

The wild rice was laying down, a fuzzy matt of tan fibers and stalks.  The river was getting wider, the winter edges pushing back to the edge of the cattails as the summer growth of rice disappeared.


The big river was running 2 to 1, my shorthand for twice as long against the current as with the current to cover a distance.  But, with such a fine sunny day, a spectacular late autumn day for sure, I went farther up the river than necessary, rounding all of Wilcox Island before entering the Mattebasset on the way downstream.



The trees and brush have long since dropped their leaves, exposing the surface of the wetland and most of what is there, and what has been left there.  It's a time of dormancy, but I always find it a time of hope.  The trees are just waiting for the right time to regrow their leaves, they are just adding one more ring to their measure of time. 

There are just a few big birds, a couple great blue herons, a few hawks, two swans.  Mostly, it is smaller songbirds, and woodpeckers - lots of woodpeckers, primarily the downy, but I also spot one of the larger hairy woodpeckers. 



The near lack of breeze creates clear reflections of the silver grey trees on the water and sometimes I just navigate by watching the reflections instead of the actual river's edge.  It's all the same except upside down. 

I turn at the tavern put-in, where the tavern no longer stands.  I have no reason to push farther up the river, and I have good reason to take my time and explore unvisited inlets on the way out. 



I turn up a backwater that has a thin sheet of ice, using the bow of my canoe to create a small vee.  The view of frozen water and the sound of frozen water cracking will never cease to hold me.